


if you could see me, whoever i am

by segmentcalled



Series: bright day will turn to night [2]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Coming Out, Complicated Relationships, Dramatic Irony, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks, Penis In Vagina Sex, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Sexuality, Sexuality Crisis, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: All things considered, Pat would say he’s been having a pretty shitty day.





	if you could see me, whoever i am

**Author's Note:**

> _amid all the confusion (these friends i've been losing)_  
>  _i always thought from the start (i'd be the one moving on)_  
>  _i guess i'll never know_  
>  \- [walking the dog, fun.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bRLCSxSR39s)
> 
> heads up, folks, this one isn't a happy one taken on its own
> 
> some (kinda spoilery) warnings for the road;  
> in this fic a character who is a gay man has sex with a character who is a woman. everything that happens here IS consented to!! but there are some Very Complicated Feelings about it regardless. and thusly our dear pov character does have just a big ol' breakdown over it. but mostly the "it" in question is just a whole lot of internalized homophobia resulting in a refusal to acknowledge any of his shit till he's forced to. poor dude's been having a bit of a time, huh

All things considered, Pat would say he’s been having a pretty shitty day.

He’s spent most of it at Allegra’s, fielding text messages from his soon-to-be-ex roommate, trying to avoid a panic attack about how the _fuck_ he’s going to afford to live anywhere without someone to pay the other half of the rent. It’s not even anything Pat did, it’s just his roommate is moving in with his partner instead and leaving Pat out to dry. Goddammit. This is why you don’t room with someone you don’t know. They won’t even feel bad when they ditch you.

But eventually the text messages stop, and Pat lays miserably on Legs’s bed as she absentmindedly pets his hair and watches the movie she’s got up on her laptop.

“This movie is garbage,” she says.

“So stop watching it.”

“Nah. It’s fun garbage. Get your face out of the blankets and join me in my suffering. It will, at least, be a more enjoyable kind of suffering than what you’re currently putting yourself through.”

Pat makes a grumpy noise, but turns his head so his face isn’t squished into the bedding and he can squint at the screen. He’s not really sure where his glasses went, he set them down at some point to rub stressedly at his face. Maybe they’re on her desk. He doesn’t actually care that much. He doesn’t really want to watch the movie, and it’s fucking nice to just lay here with her playing with his hair like that.

He rolls over onto his side and finds himself closer to her than he really intended, but that’s alright. She doesn’t seem to be bothered. She just keeps doing what she’s doing, gently scratches at his scalp with her fingernails, and he _sighs._

She gives a light laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, and closes his eyes as she keeps doing it. He is just considering the merits of trying to doze off when she works her way to the nape of his neck and her hand slips and she kind of yanks on his hair and he gives a sharp shuddery little gasp because _fuck_ he likes that more than he should and this is Legs his best friend and he shouldn’t — he really shouldn’t — and besides, he’s —

“Hey, Pat?” she says. There is something in her tone that makes him open his eyes and look up at her. “Do you, uh. Tell me if I’m coming on too strong, or whatever, but I sort of feel like we’ve been dancing around this for a while. But. I mean. If you want. We could, like. Do this thing.”

She’s right. They have been dancing around it for a while. Which is all Pat’s fault, really, because he doesn’t want to examine his thoughts too closely on it. But this is _Allegra._ She’s perfect. You’d have to be an idiot not to see that. She’s funny and smart and brilliant and talented and beautiful, yeah, and she’s also his best friend.

And he can’t say he hasn’t noticed she’s been crushing on him.

And he really _would_ have to be an idiot not to be into her. Right? She’s — she’s everything that anyone could ever hope for. He’d steal the fucking moon for her, if she wanted him to. And that’s gotta count for something, right?

“You think?” he says.

“If you want to,” she says. “I’d really like to.”

He reaches for her, and she meets him halfway, leans down to kiss him with enthusiasm.

It’s — surprisingly nice. She tastes like coffee and mint chapstick and her hands are gentle on his face, fingers stroking over his cheeks and his week-old beard and into his hair again. He likes it so fucking much when she gets her hands into his hair, it feels so good. He hasn’t had anyone to mess with it since he grew it out, and she knows now that she’ll get a response if she gets a good handful at the base of his neck and pulls lightly, which she does, and he gasps against her mouth.

“Good?” she says against his lips.

“Yeah,” he breathes in response.

So she climbs onto him and straddles his hips and he puts his hands on her waist, cautious, as she kisses him again. She’s wearing a skirt, and knowing that it’s just her underwear over the crotch of his jeans between them makes him blush like a goddamn teenager.

“You don’t have to be so shy,” she says. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know.”

She punctuates this by taking one of Pat’s hands and sliding it up her shirt and he laughs and she smiles.

“Point taken,” he says. “You want my shirt off, while we’re at it?”

“Oh, yes please,” she says, quite happily, and scoots back to let him wriggle out of his shirt. “Jeez, Patrick, you are too freaking skinny!” She pokes at his ribs and he makes an embarrassing sort of yelp, because it tickles. She laughs, and comes back for more kisses.

It’s nice, to kiss her. Her lips are soft and she smells nice and she’s enthusiastic, wiggly, excited. It’s charming, really. And more than charming when he dares to bite at her gently and she responds to that like it’s all she needed to open up and get really into it. She licks into his mouth and lets him pull her close and does that thing with his hair again that makes him gasp.

He wants her to feel nice, too, but he doesn’t have a preemptive tip-off as to what makes her feel good, so he explores: sucks her lower lip into his mouth (good) and slides a hand under her shirt (approved) and then what the hell his other hand too (double approved) and she grinds down against him and then it’s him gasping again.

He’s so nervous and he doesn’t want to cross a line and he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable and he doesn’t want to just be some dick who just wants to see her boobs but like he does kind of want her to take her shirt off because he thinks it would be really nice to have the feeling of skin on skin and so he telegraphs that by pushing the fabric of her shirt up, just an inch or so.

“Alright, alright,” she says, and she’s smiling against his lips before she sits up. She’s goddamn gorgeous and she must know it, because she’s solicitous, almost showy, as she takes off her shirt and then her bra and then laughs at him for blushing.

“What, you never seen a boob?”

“Not in a while,” he confesses, and she laughs more, especially when she looks at him expectantly and he gives her a helpless sort of look in response, and then she just takes his hands and puts them where she wants them because that’s easier for both of them than making Pat battle his intense case of being flustered.

At least he’s not awful at this, despite his momentarily-incapacitating bout of nerves; he kisses her again and makes better use of his hands. He’s always felt embarrassed, doing this, like he’s doing something illicit — like even with express permission and consent and direction he still shouldn’t be feeling a woman up — but she definitely likes it, because she gives a soft moan when he rolls her nipple under his fingers.

And, what the hell, fuck shame. He breaks away from her lips, both of them breathing a little hard, and presses kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her sternum, and then gets his mouth where his hand was and she breathes in sharply and cups the back of his head with her hand and holds him close as he works with his tongue and lips and teeth, feeling out what she likes, and then he switches which side he’s using his mouth on but keeps teasing at her with his hand the best he can, with whatever residual brainpower he’s got, but she seems to like it just about as much whether he’s really working at it or he’s just palming at her chest. Which may say something about his technique, actually, but oh well.

“Pat,” she says, breathlessly, “d’you want to —?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice rough as he looks up at her, and then just for show he keeps his eyes on hers and grazes his teeth over her skin and she smiles and pulls him up into a bruising kiss. 

Fuck, it’s nice, when she presses close against him and runs her hands over his arms and hums appreciatively when he holds her closer. He likes how it feels, when she rocks her hips against his. He’s not hard yet, not really, but he’s patient and so is she. It’s worth the wait, when she rubs him through his jeans and presses hot wanting kisses to his neck and chest and okay, yes, yes, he’s definitely gotten with the picture now, hello.

There’s more fumbling with clothes, then, and rummaging through bedside drawers, and hasty hushed exchanges — _there’s not latex in that right — no I made sure — hah, way to have forethought — shut up, you_ — and giggling, because what’s the goddamn point if you can’t laugh when she touches your dick with the express intent of putting a condom on and your whole body jerks at the touch and it’s funny and embarrassing and she looks so, so fond. And happy. God, she looks so happy.

He’s pleased to know that she’s exactly the same in every possible context — silly and snarky and certain in what she wants, and determined to get it. So he’s not surprised when she wants to ride him, especially since she’s had him on his back this whole time. And it makes him feel real good when she sinks down on him and her eyelids flutter and her muscles clench around him as she adjusts to the feeling and she squeezes his hand. And it’s better than that, even, when she moves, wrenches a moan out of him, as he grabs for her to just have something to hang on to.

They’re so close, sharing breathless kisses and touching each other and trying to figure out all the right ways to move and places to touch that get them to where they want to be. And it’s nice, it really is, even when her hair gets in his mouth and she giggles at him when he sticks his tongue out about it, and even when she loses her balance and he gets an elbow right into his forearm for his attempt to steady her and she squeaks out an apology. It’s not without trial and error, but — it’s also not long before they figure it out.

And he is a goddamn gentleman, thank you very much, and he gets her to come before he does, rubbing at her clit as she gasps out his name, and the way she tightens around him sets him over the edge too, clutching at her, his hips thrusting up, shuddering apart, his mind going blissfully blank for a moment to think about nothing but how good it feels.

They’re both breathless, after, and just hold each other close for a long moment before they even move. He can hear her heartbeat, with his head resting on her chest, and it’s racing. He hugs her tighter before he lets her go.

She’s businesslike in the aftermath, shrugging off the idea of cuddles in favor of cleaning up first — “Come on, it’s like a whole thing, and I’m not snuggling up with you ‘till I don’t feel gross. Here.” She flings a packet of baby wipes at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “For your dick,” she says, and he snort-laughs at that, completely unexpected, and that makes her laugh too. “Okay, for real, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she says, and disappears off to the bathroom.

She’s hardly gone for a minute before Pat has the sudden realization that he feels absolutely fucking _awful._

He sits up, curled in on himself with his arms wrapped around his legs. Everything between his thighs is cold and faintly tacky and he scrunches up his nose at the feeling ‘cause he really would’ve rather waited and gone to the bathroom to clean up instead but he didn’t and he’s sort of weirdly shaky, like he’s feeling a panic attack coming on, and —

Oh. He’s feeling a panic attack coming on.

Fuck.

He digs his fingernails into his leg where his hand rests, like that’d somehow ground him, but it doesn’t work, because that’s not a solution.

What was he _thinking?_

You don’t fuck your best friend, especially not your goddamn coworker, _especially_ not when she’s crushing on you and your feelings about anything at all lately seem to be a black hole, a miserable fucking void that sucks everything in and eats it alive and leaves everything dark.

And.

Especially not when you know.

You _know._

You know you could never love her back, not the way she wants you to.

Because you’re —

You’re —

You’re crying.

Allegra comes back into the room and stops dead. The smile drops off her face in a millisecond.

“Pat?” she says, sort of horrified.

He covers his face with his hands. Oh, god, he didn’t want her to see this. He wishes he could hide or jump out the window or evaporate into thin air so he didn’t have to deal with this and didn’t have to see her dismayed face as he cries in her goddamn bed not ten minutes after they fucked.

“Pat, what’s wrong?” she says, and she lightly touches his shoulder and he flinches a little and she immediately pulls away. “Here — shit — okay, here,” she says, and then a blanket settles over his legs, which he appreciates _immensely._ “I’m gonna sit next to you, okay? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

He feels the mattress shift and he feels her warmth as she settles just inches away, carefully not touching him.

“Did I do something?” she says, softly.

“No! No. I promise you didn’t,” he says, quickly. “Not you. You’re great. Promise. I mean it.”

“Then — Pat — what’s —?”

He draws an awful, awful shaky breath, around the tightness in his chest. He wipes at his face and pulls his hands away and stares at them for something else to look at, something other than his best friend who’s heart he’s about to break, no matter what fucking way he swings this.

“Allegra,” he says, and his voice breaks and that’s even worse. “Allegra, I’m gay.”

Her silence is the worst part yet.

It’s only a matter of seconds before she sighs, so softly it’s barely perceptible, and then she says, “Then why…?”

She leaves the rest of her question hanging. Which, fair enough. She doesn’t need to say it for it to be perfectly fucking clear.

“I thought — I thought maybe — I didn’t — I thought I could — maybe if I — I — I don’t know,” he stutters out, and his voice cracks and he has to put his hands over his face again because he’s crying in earnest _again._ He says, into his palms: “That’s the first time I’ve ever said it.”

“Oh, Patrick,” she says, so quietly. Gently. It’s a gentleness he doesn’t deserve. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t want to,” he says, and it’s all he can do to not wail like a fucking _child_ about it, not to throw a fucking temper tantrum at, what, at, at God? Fuck. “I — I just want one thing to make sense, I just want one fucking thing to be good, and you’re the best goddamn person I know, and I — I wanted to, I promise, I didn’t just do this because I felt obligated, I — I really. I wish. If I could… if there was any way I could make this work, I would.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“I _mean_ it. You’re amazing. If there was any single person in the world I could fall for out of sheer wanting to be able to it would be you. But. I. I can’t. I can’t lie to myself about it anymore. I’m not going to lie to you about it, ever. And I’m so — Legs, Allegra, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she says, and oh god if that was a sniffle from her he is going to just fucking die. If he’s made her cry he is going to fucking perish on the spot of being an absolutely genuinely terrible human being. “You can’t help that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, because now he’s started apologizing he can’t stop and his resolve buckles again and he’s fucking sobbing because he’s having this realization at the worst conceivable possible time to have it and god, god, _god_ how did he get himself into this?

Why couldn’t he have had this crisis ten, fifteen years ago?

Why did it take _this_ to force him to finally, finally, _finally_ admit it to himself?

“Can I hug you?” she says, and he buries himself in her arms, shoving his face against her bony shoulder — god, they’re both still mostly naked except for the blanket on Pat’s lap and she’d produced undergarments from somewhere while she was up — and she runs fluttery gentle hands down his spine as he cries awful awful tears onto her bare skin.

It takes him a truly embarrassingly long time to cry himself out. His back hurts from being twisted up close to her and he’s kind of sweaty and his eyes hurt and he’s gonna have to blow his nose like fifty times and he’s so. He’s so fucking tired.

“I’m sorry,” he says, when he can make words again.

“Hey. It’s okay. Really. I’m not mad at you.”

He doesn’t believe that even one little bit, but he doesn’t want to question it because he doesn’t want to hear her say that she hates him.

“Do you need anything?” she says.

“I think maybe I should go home,” he says.

“Alright. That’s fair. I, um. I’m here for you, if you need anything, you know? That’s — that’s a pretty big revelation to have, I think.”

He gives a humorless huff of a laugh. “Yeah. It really is.”

“Thank you for telling me, though,” she says, and even sounds like she really means it. “I’m sure that wasn’t easy.”

That’s the most massive understatement he’s ever heard. He doesn’t want to say that, though. He’s not sure what to say. He doubts she wants to hear him apologize any more except he is so very extremely fucking goddamn _sorry_ that he’s done this to her that he doesn’t know how he’s ever gonna look her in the face again.

“It really is okay, you know,” she says. “I understand.”

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I —“ He sighs. “Thank you.”

“It’’s gonna be okay. I promise. I’m really, really not mad at you, I swear. These things happen. You’re still my friend. That hasn’t changed, okay?”

“Okay,” he says. He hopes that’s true. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her. “You're the best person I know.” He hopes she knows how genuinely he means that. “You deserve better than me, anyway.”

Now it’s her turn to give a laugh that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t know about that,” she says. “But that’s sweet of you to say.”

“I mean it. You deserve the world. I hope someone can give it to you. I’m sorry it can’t be me.”

“That’s alright,” she says, and she smiles, even though her eyes are sad. “At least now we know, right? And we can find what really will be right for us.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

“I believe in us.”

Pat gives a little bit of a laugh at that, and she smiles, a bit more genuinely now.

“I think — I think I’m gonna get dressed and head home,” he says. “You could probably use some space, I bet.”

She shrugs. “If you need to stay — if you don’t want to be alone, that’s okay.”

He actually very, very much wants to be alone. He can’t continue to fuck up so goddamn bad if he’s by himself. Probably. Actually, he wouldn’t put it past himself.

“It’s okay. I’ll text you? Or. You text me. If you need anything. Really. I’ll be here if you do. I — thank you. For listening. And understanding. I’m sorry.”

“Of course,” she says.

He turns away, because he can see how hard she’s trying to put on a brave face for him, and it makes him feel even worse.

Yeah, Pat would say, all things considered, that this is pretty high up there on the list of worst possible days.

**Author's Note:**

> i would just like to be super clear, because i don't know how clear i made it in the base fic: he doesn't lose his job because of this situation, he leaves voluntarily (well. not Super voluntarily, cause capitalism) because of $ situations
> 
> anyway oops!!!!!!!!!!! some backstory for you.  
> DONT WORRY TOO MUCH THOUGH!!!!! i am physically incapable of not resolving everything extremely fucking thoroughly in the long run. those of you who read author notes get to know this: there will be MUCH MORE LEGS in the main fic!!! because i Love her and she deserves the best
> 
> comments and kudos as always make my day and keep me going. also i have at least 3 more consecutive days of posts lined up for yall so be nice to me KJGDHFKJG (i tease i love all of you everyone is so fucking nice and it warms my heart)


End file.
